The Baker's Bread
by hongice
Summary: Chiara is a peasant baker, once of royal blood, and Carmen is the charming florist across the street. [Nyotalia, set in a medieval/modern universe]
1. Chapter 1

It was a hot and sticky August day. The sun shone down on all of the bustling village, seeping through cracks in wooden doors and shining through dusty windows. An Italian baker with long wavy chocolate hair, piercing hazel eyes and a little on the short side, was sat on a wobbly stool behind the front counter of her bakery. Although she wore a thin white cotton tunic, loose around the arms, with a cheap brown skirt that was worn out at the edges, sweat beaded at her hairline and under limbs. Adjusting the kerchief that held her hair back she let out a long, bored sigh and looked down at her co-worker who was in the middle of placing a plate of fresh bread at the front of the store . "Octavia," A strawberry blonde stood up from the crouched position she was in at the mention of her name. Octavia Ceausescu was a young woman with Romanian blood, born in the narrow streets of the small town, and one of the few working in the bakery. "Yes?" Octavia raised an eyebrow and turned towards the woman at the counter. "Closing time is near. You can take your leave, if you'd like." The brunette said and rummaged through her pockets to find the Romanian's pay for the day. Two small silver coins were dropped onto the counter, quickly swiped up by Octavia, who gave a toothy grin. "Thanks, Boss," The younger made her exit and closed the thick door of the bakery with a thump.

It had been a slow day; the regulars dropped in when the doors opened and left with their goods tucked under their arms and less coins then they had entered with. After that it was vacant, only the tired brunette and Octavia to keep each other company. A few had dropped in later in the afternoon, but that was it for the day. _I wonder,_ the lone woman thought as she gathered the little belongings she had in the bakery, _why I still bother with this damned bakery._ A question she asked to herself each day, though she knew the answer. It was because she had nowhere else to go. After leaving her spot as heiress-yes, _heiress-_ to the royal throne of the land and retreating to a humble life as a peasant, there was nowhere to return. No one had even bothered to search for her when she ran from her throne, no ripped posters plastered to brick walls or pinned to boat docks urging her to come back. It was enough to let her know that she wasn't going to be welcomed back with a warm hug from the King. Maybe kisses on the cheek from her sister, but especially not an embrace from her "mother", a fair Queen from the far away lands of Greece.

But… there was another thing that kept the hazel eyed maiden from abandoning everything and joining a crew of thieves.

The florist.

The florist was a happy Spaniard, with long caramel hair that when untucked from it's bun reached all the way to her waist and beautifully tanned skin. The florist who was always walking around with a bright smile that would even blind the mightiest of Gods, who left small daisies at the steps of the bakers home. Yes, she was definitely one of the reasons that the bakery was still open. Who, also, made her daily visits into the store with a hunger for some of the bread that hadn't been sold. Expectedly, just a few minutes after the poorly painted sign reading OPEN had been flipped to CLOSED, that florist appeared. "Hello, Chiara!" She cried and skipped over to to the Italian, causing her heart to skip a beat. "Carmen," Chiara greeted and handed her half a loaf of bread wrapped in grey cloth. The trade was illegal, as it was against law to simply hand out goods for free. There were taxes to be paid, after all. Taxes that did nothing but benefit those of the upper class and nothing for commoners.

The first few times they had exchanged their stock made Chiara nervous and afraid of being caught by royal guards (even though it was four into the evening and they rarely came down this street), but Carmen assured her it would be alright. Carmen pulled a lilac rose from her girdle. Scratching her head and offering a lopsided smile, "Sorry it's so... crumpled?" Holding it out to the Italian she apologised. Chiara looked at the rose and then into Spaniard's jade eyes in disbelief. "A-...A…. A _rose?_" She whispered loudly and Carmen looked at her in confusion. "Do you not like it?" Tilting her head she asked. Did she not _like _it? For Christ sake, she loved it, even if it it was a bit smushed and a petal had already fell to the floor. "No, no, I do. But Carmen, you can't just hand out roses! They cost a fortune! A whole god damn gold coin!" Chiara tried not yell at Carmen too loud, as it would attract the attention of neighbouring merchants and shopkeepers- or worse, the guards. "Eheh… I thought you would say so, _mi querida_, but it's okay! No one has to know," She reminded flustered girl who was holding the rose tightly to her chest, now letting out a scoff. Shaking her head and now standing with arms akimbo a _tsk_ escaped her lips in disapproval.

Turning to the counter and delicately placing the flower down, something about _one day_ and _guards _murmured which caused the older to chuckle in amusement. "Tch, what's so funny to you now?" Chiara narrowed her eyebrows once she was facing Carmen again, only to be answered with a shake of the head and wave of the hands and followed with a "Nothing, nothing, _nada," _But, truly, Carmen found the small Italian's reactions so cute, and amusing. She was then shooed out seconds after by Chiara, who looked tired. "Now leave before the dumber one comes to find you." 'Dumber' referred to Carmen's pasty brewer friend, Julchen, who lived a few streets over, tucked in an alley where most of the drunks came to get their alcohol when midnight hit. "She's not that bad, Ari!" 'Dumb' defended the German but followed her orders-Chiara looked like she could use some rest. The claim was shrugged off quickly with a 'whatever, pollen eater' and a final push out the door.

On one side, a florist hid half a loaf of bread under flowers once arranged neatly in a woven basket that rested outside the bakery. On the other, an Italian with a warm feeling in her heart glanced at a crumpled lilac rose before turning her head and blushing, creeping her way up creaking wooden stairs to her living quarters that was above the shop.

And both were madly in love.

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><p>First official fanfic! Octavia is F. Romania, Carmen is F. Spain and Chiara F. Romano. I have a lot planned for this series, so I'm very excited! Also, if there's anything off about fashionjobs/etc. used in this story, I've been scrapping up anything I could find to use that took place in the Middle Ages, but correct me if I'm wrong on anything.

EDIT: Look at next chapters notes for the setting, instead!


	2. Chapter 2

It was wrong, this they both knew, feeling attraction to another of the same sex. The Church looked down upon it, sinning against nature, even forbid it; laws had been established and punishments placed. Though there were some who did it underground, who met together late in the night and quietly made their way to the outskirts of the village to be together. And there were some whose love was too much to bear and attempted to form a relationship. For example, Rosa. She was a sharp tongued poet that once resided in a bookstore next to Carmen's, but milkmaids and barbers alike whispered rumours claiming her of practicing witchcraft and dark magic. Her lover was a bubbly, dirty blonde blacksmith, with eyes blue as clear afternoon skies. Their relationship became visible to the public eye and they fled out days after, fearing the punishments that could have taken place. Chiara was a good Catholic, walked to Church every day and prayed to God, doing her best to be kind to her neighbours. Even the slightest indication that she felt attraction towards a woman would easily result in accusations of being unfaithful.

Untying the kerchief from underneath her chin and tucking it into her leather corset, Chiara let her hair fall forward into her face. The only natural light in the room came from a dirty, cracked window. During the summer, her room was so stuffy to the point where Chiara felt as though the air was choking her, so the window was always cracked open an inch. Chiara flung herself onto her straw mattress laying on the floor and stared at the ceiling, wondering what she was to do next. Her stomach wasn't growling yet nor was she, surprisingly, tired enough to take a nap. A mouse with a big bread crumb clenched between it's teeth scurried past her feet and into a hole shaped in the walls.

Why had she ever left the life of royalty? She must have been drunk on five goblets of wine, or something, because this sucked. But there was a legitimate reason, she knew that, and quite a simple one. It was because she felt like an outlier. It felt _wrong_ to be surrounded by so many guards and have her chest decorated in shimmering jewels and expensive pearls, confined to the cold stone building and only have her sister and maids to keep company- not that there were many willing to. Chiara had a bad attitude, playing her part as a spoiled princess who threw cringe worthy tantrums and gave a hell of a glare, but she tried to leave as much of it as she did her silk dresses and jewelry behind when she turned to a peasant life. A marriage was arranged to happen two years ago, as well, and only when Hell froze over would Chiara do such a thing. She wasn't even fit to watch over her sister, let alone a foreign kingdom.

xxx

While Chiara sulked in her room, Carmen was making her way to Julchen's tavern. Like it was unusual for Rosa's partner to have been a blacksmith, it was unusual for one to be a brewer, as well as a taverner. Julchen was a bit more masculine then most, even more so then the Hungarian who operated a small book store right next to the floral shop. Not to mention her grandfather had run one and it was well known that Julchen took the most after him.

Carmen waved to a man carrying a dripping bucket of water in his hands and received a polite smile from him. Turning at the corner of the dirt path, she entered Gobblesbikk Way, or as Chiara liked to call it the lair of drunks. Julchen was sat on a pile of bags of flour like she was a queen. With blonde hair so light it could be considered white and pale skin, it was impossible to miss the brewer.. She was like a walking sun. "Good evening, Julchen!" Carmen waved and called in her direction. Julchen looked up from the beer bottle she was taking a swig out of, swallowing the alcohol quickly, and grinning when she caught sight of her tan friend. "Evening." She nodded and set the jug down on the ground in front of her. Scooting over to make room, Julchen gestured to the empty spot next to her, inviting Carmen to sit next to her. "How is the tavern doing?" The brunette asked once making herself as comfortable as sitting on a pile of bags filled with flour would allow. "Eh," Her companion shrugged and glanced her brown eyes in another direction for a dramatic effect-quite the showstopper, wasn't she? Julchen's eyes weren't just a plain, chocolate brown. In most light they gave off what one could describe as a maroon colour, or put it bluntly as 'red'. "Busy, as usual. We've gained a few regulars, actually. Some men whose wives have probably abandoned them for the smelting heartthrob," Pointing behind her was a sweating man farther down the street, surrounded by swooning women who cooed over his muscles. The muscles belonged to the newest blacksmith, Ralph, a charming young man with thick eyebrows who was quick to attract attention from maidens. Pretty ones, at that. Carmen could only hope that Chiara wasn't in the crowd, because she was so fair and lovely; _Ralph would surely sweep her off her feet, _bitterly she thought, which then caused Carmen's cheeks to warm. Had she really thought that? How possessive of her, though she wouldn't deny the embarrassing fact she held a small romantic liking to the girl. Chiara's slender, olive legs (which had been _accidentally _seen when she cut her leg whilst Carmen was visiting) and soft looking lips had made the tan woman realise exactly how she liked her neighbour.

"Carmen?" Julchen waved her hand in front of a zoned out Carmen. "For the Lord's sake, tell me you aren't going to become a mindless milkmaid who coos over sweaty muscles. That would give the amazing me a bad image, you know." She warned which pulled Carmen out of her thoughts. "Ah?" Carmen tilted her head in confusion, "Oh,_ lo siento_. What were you saying?" To that, Julchen snorted and shook her head. Glancing around her, she lowered her voice. "Thinking about your sweet, darling baker?" She cackled while the Spaniard felt her her cheeks grow hotter then they had been a few minutes ago. "Knew it!" Julchen leaned back in the pile and closed her eyes, "She's hot. Like, really hot, Carms. And can bake too. But she's a bitch," She commented. Chiara didn't leave _all_ of her attitude when she left her princess position. She still had to have character somehow. Shyly, Carmen nodded in agreement. "I guess she can have a bit... stubborn," she blew a tired sigh out and Julchen hummed. There was definitely no argument against the fact she could be difficult; today it had surprised Carmen the most that Chiara took the rose without giving a small lecture. Some light scolding, yes, but nothing too bad. Normally, she would turn her head to the side and _tch _before telling Carmen to at least give her the cheaper flowers and go on about how she should be more careful with how she save the nice flora for those with good money.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, Carmen yawned and stretched her arms in front of her, standing up. "Well, I'm off. I have a stew to make! I'll bring you some tomorrow, yes?" She smiled down at Julchen who gave a thumbs up in approval. The sun was starting to set and Carmen looked in disbelief. How long had it been since she left the shop? Confused, she continued her way back with her basket still in hand and glanced at the church clock in alarm. Prayer was about to begin. Pushing her way through the crowds and sending loud apologies behind her back, Carmen swung into the shop and dropped the basket, hurrying up the stairs. Suddenly, her foot caught the front of her skirt and she tripped, hitting her chin on the wooden stairs first and body following later, all with a _thud!_

* * *

><p>Quite a sudden ending, eh? I wasn't sure of what to write. Apologies if it seems a bit sloppy, though...<p>

Anyways, I've decided on making this a medieval/modern sort of story. I'd like to include some "slang" if you will, especially on Julchen and Chiara's part, but I didn't think it would fit so well. So, just consider it some weird hybrid in another universe.

Julchen is F. Prussia, if you didn't know already, and Ralph is Australia.


	3. Chapter 3

The church bell rang loudly, signalling prayer and scaring Chiara awake. Had she fallen asleep? It seemed that contrary to what her mind said, her body must have needed the rest after all. Groggily, she pushed herself off the thin mattress that tempted her to return and lazily peeled herself out of the flour dusted work clothes.

Prayer began every day of the week besides Sunday at seven exactly and everyone able bodied was expected to come and pray in the nicest clothes they could piece together. Chiara was clad in a simple green skirt that was only worn on Saturdays, with white blouse to match and a plain black corset she wore with most everything. Slipping on a pair of sandals, she stumbled through the dark room and back down the stairs once more. Her stomach grumbled in need of food but would have to wait for morning to come. Surely a small piece of bread couldn't hurt though? There were no guards in sight and everyone was too busy preparing to leave.

Breaking off a small piece of a once warm and soft slice of bread and stuffing it in her mouth, Chiara pushed the front door open and weaved her way through a family of four and to the front of Carmen's home. It was only a shop in open hours, after all. Through the upper window Chiara could see a candle illuminating her room and a faint blush rose to her cheeks. What if Carmen was changing? Chiara was no peeping Tom! So she shifted her vision to the closed door in front of her instead and raised her fists to knock loudly. "Hey, Carmen! You in there?" Cautiously, Chiara cracked it open and called into the lower level. "_¡__Un momento, por favor_!" A voice called from up the stairs that were a mirror of Chiara's. Almost all the buildings in the village had a similar layout as she had learned in only the first few days of opening shop. Caught up in her thoughts, she was surprised to see Carmen's face only inches away from her own. "Oi! Stop scaring me like that!" Chiara yelled after calming her beating heart down, which was still thumping from a mixture of both surprise and how close the two had been. Chiara noticed a red scratch on her face whilst was doing her best to avoid eye contact with the other. She knew what it was from. Anyway, if someone had been looking, it would have seemed the two were sharing a kiss! _How embarrassing, _the Italian thought and took a small step away from the Spaniard, who was smiling like a fool. "Sorry," Carmen brushed it off quickly before bouncing in front of Chiara to snatch the oppurtunity of holding the door open, like any gentlewoman would. "Shall we go?" Carmen asked and gestured to the stream of people making their way towards the centre of the village.

The village, which was actually called Rhomanta, rested in what is now modern day Liechtenstein. The centre was a large circle that held merchant's stands who from afar on certain days, and events on others. A marble statue of the King, Romulus, had been built in the middle and stood for all to admire. The centre branched off into eight separate streets. On the ride side of the circle, the streets led down into shops and varying establishments such as restaurants and inns. The left were dirt paths guiding to farms and ports. One was a brick road that led down to the castle, which sat at the base of a large mountain and took what felt like hours to reach; Chiara had learned the hard way. That street was sandwiched between the towering homes of wealthy citizens, like lords and their fragile wives.

Chiara nodded and stepped outside. The air was much cooler and satisfying compared to the humid and damp state of their homes. Carmen followed behind after locking the door quickly with a rusty key which was then tucked in her corset. "Hey," Chiara turned to look at Carmen, who looked down at her. There was quite a height difference between the short Italian and the lanky Spaniard, not that Chiara would ever admit it though. "What'd you do to your chin?" She asked and pointed at her own. Carmen looked down at the ground and mumbled, with a look of shame plastered on her face. "Speak louder, dammit," Chiara narrowed her eyebrows slightly and Carmen then turned her gaze towards the starry sky, "I…tripped…", and mindlessly kicked a pebble in front of her. Chiara snorted loudly. "Again? _Really_?" She asked in amusement and Carmen nodded sadly.

Carmen wasn't very graceful when it came to stairs. Falling, tripping, sliding, she's done it all. Chiara felt smug; she always reminded Carmen to lift up her skirt when going up and down stairs. Did she ever remember? Well, yes, but only when her baker neighbour dropped in to chat. She had to prove herself _somehow_. "I'll patch it up later, after prayer," Chiara assured and stretched her hands out in front of her. It only reminded Carmen of how good of a wife Chiara would make! She could do everything, even _farm_. Cleaning, however, was something that she could work on, but Carmen could take care of that- hypothetically.

While the chocolate haired woman had come to terms with her feelings, Chiara was at a middle point. Like Carmen once had, she went to church and got on both knees, confessing her sins under her breath in case anyone was lurking about. Thoughts of them together twisted her stomach in happiness and worry. "Thank you, _mi quierda_!" Carmen sang and caused Chiara to furrow her eyebrows.

"You know I don't speak any Spanish."

"Yes, but it's close to Italian, right?"

"No!"

"Eh?! Really?"

"Maybe… just a bit,"

The two bantered pointlessly until reaching the sandstone church. Julchen and an unfamiliar face stood at the entrance, and the white haired woman perked up when she met eyes with Carmen. Waving them over, Julchen signaled to the stranger next to her. "Chiara, Carmen, I'd like to introduce you to the lovely Marianne." Marianna was a dirty blonde, her hair held in a bun similar to the style of Carmen's. Her skin was pale, but not like Julchen's, clear and two moles decorated her neck like vampire bites along with a shining necklace draped over her collarbones, made of silver. "_Bonjour_," Marianne bowed curtly and smiled. "She's _French_!" Julchen whispered excitedly. Carmen chuckled, "Good evening, Marianne. I'm Carmen! And this is Chiara." She nudged Chiara's shoulder and Chiara shook her head growled in response. "Tch. I can introduce myself, _thank you very much_."

"You're friends are quite interesting." Marianne remarked. "Julchen has told me of how you are a florist?" She motioned to Carmen and looked at Julchen for conformation, who gave a small nod. "And Chiara, you're the baker. Quite an amazing one, as well!" To this, Chiara blushed and quietly thanked her. When no one was sure of what to say, Julchen clapped her hands together. "Well then! Let's go pray!"

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><p>Woohoooooo. Got a bit lazy at the end, you can probably tell. I'd also like to thank all of you who favourited and followed! It means a lot!<p>

I'm not sure how these review things work, but thank you Vintage Sherry! The next chapter you shall have!

Marianne is F. France.

I've also finally decided that this will take place in a universe where nations and some modern slang exist, but it's still placed in a medieval setting because medieval jobs are yesss.


	4. Chapter 4

The quartet aligned themselves in the wooden pew, with Chiara at the far end and Julchen in the beginning and packed like had been some arguing as to who sat where and complaining about how tightly packed the pew was now they sat still and drew quiet breaths as prayer began .Prayer wasn't just the single act of praying; it covered all of the usual rituals they practiced in church, but most found it easier to use it as an umbrella term.

The priest, decorated in red and gold fabric, was in the middle of a sermon. His powerful voice rang throughout the cold stone walls of the church and disappeared in the half moon night. The four weren't paying him much attention; nor was anyone else, besides the children. The sermons he gave were awfully similar, spreading the same message, and everyone past the age of ten had heard them what must have been more than a thousand times.

"Come over later? I have some stew left from last night!" Carmen nudged Chiara and whispered an hour into prayer, switching her gaze from the priest reading the Bible, to the latter. Chiara hushed her, but gave a small nod. Those belonging to the church fasted two hours before Eucharist, and seeing as they had little time to during work hours, almost everyone returned home with empty stomachs and the desire to eat. Guilt bubbled in the pit of her stomach as the thought of the bread Chiara too came to mind. She couldn't help it! The sudden movement around her brought pulled her out of her thoughts and she looked around wildly. People were standing up and opening small, blue books in the palm of their hands. Chiara followed them and pulled her own out from under the pew in front of her and peeked at the page number Carmen had hers open to.

Flipping through pages to find the song that the choir was beginning to hum, Chiara quickly joined with the rest of the church as they sang to a hymn. It was a hauntingly beautiful scene with the faint flames of candles illuminating the church, making the stained glass windows depicting bible scenes easier to see, the only background noise being the cries of a baby and its mother hushing them. The walls had intricate designs carved into them that had made Marianne stop and admire them when the group took their seats, and the floors with cracks like branches of a tree running through them like veins.

As it was a Saturday, the hymn was shorter than usual and everyone slid the song books back under the pews in front of them and sat for Eucharist. Red wine was poured into a simple silver goblet and sacramental bread passed down for each along with the wine. Once it reached Chiara, she dipped the wafer and stained it with the red wine, placing it on her tongue and passing it back to a man behind her who thanked her before she turned around. The wafer dissolved quickly in Chiara's mouth. Both hands covered a long yawn and she leaned back in the uncomfortable and hard back of the pew.

The priest took his leave, with the choir following after, leaving those in the pews to talk loudly amongst their neighbours and friends. The four of them stood up to and awkwardly pushed their way past the others in the row. A gust of cool air blew in through the doors and pushed back the loose strands of hair that were in Chiara's face. Smoothing her hair back with her hand, Chiara rubbed her eyes and followed her her companions out into the dark village.

It was nine and the moon had replaced the sun, stars like freckles in the dark sky. Crickets chirped and soft, tired voices of children complained to their parents behind Chiara. Even the noisy Julchen was speaking in a low voice to Marianne as they walked to towards their streets, and Carmen nor Chiara had spoken a word since leaving. Unconsciously, Chiara crossed her arms and looked up into the sky. It made her wonder. Was there anything up there? Early in the summer, Octavia had confidently said there was something beyond; Chiara said she was mad. But, now, she wasn't so sure about it. _That's enough,_ Chiara scolded herself, _don't be like that damn witch. _

They continued in silence until reaching the line of stores that separated their streets. "'Night!" Julchen walked backwards with a smiling Marianne by her side, smiling and wishing them a farewell. Carmen waved them off until they were out of sight and bumped Chiara's hip. "What?" Chiara grumbled and squinted, trying to make Carmen's face out in the dark. "Stew!" The dark brunette exclaimed loudly, which made Chiara wince. "Sorry, sorry! I just wanted to make sure you didn't forget," Carmen lowered her voice to a whisper. "I didn't, don't piss your pants, alright?" Chiara reassured and punched her arm jokingly. As they neared closer to their homes, Chiara walked faster in an effort to reach her doors first and change back into her casual clothes.

"Get the fire ready," She ordered behind her as opening the clunky front door to the bakery, "I'll be right in." Not waiting for an answer, Chiara tripped in and let the door close behind her whilst she climbed her way up the stairs. Rushing to change, she tugged the blouse over her head, unlaced her corset, and pulling the skirt down to her ankles and stepping into a black one tossed on the floor in it's place. She'd have to go and clean the random pieces of clothing soon; a layer of dust and grime were beginning to form on most of them. Not bothering to wear a corset, she struggled to shove her feet in a pair of flats wearing out at the heel and hopped down the stairs. Her empty stomach growled in anticipation for the stew; it was homemade, with beef and potatoes and oats in it, and delicious. Carmen had made it when Chiara first opened shop as a welcoming gift, and soon learned that she made it every other Friday as well. It had been a busy Friday for Chiara, though, running in and out of the store to deliver loaves and such. She had asked for Carmen to save her some instead- to which she agreed without a complaint.

xxx

Carmen's stomach growled as she lifted a clay container of day old stew and removed it's lid. Pouring it out into a larger pot hanging above the fire, she splashed a glass of water in with it and placed the container next to a pile of wood and went to set out bowls for the two. Most of the bowls were soaking in a wooden bucket and ready to be scrubbed; Carmen just hadn't gotten around to it yet. Shallow dipped spoons were placed next to it as well as glasses of water she had collected from the well hours earlier. A goofy smile grew on her face at the thought of how Chiara would compliment her stew and ask for seconds. Carmen had made sure it was super good this time, too, even managing to throw some carrots in (which her dear, dear neighbour loved).

The stump of a candle was lit in the middle of the table and it's wax beginning to drip out onto the sides like raindrops creeping down a window. From downstairs came a knock at the door followed by muffled footsteps that grew louder as the pair of feet made their way up the stairs. "Hey," Chiara appeared in a cute outfit. She was always so fashionable! Carmen really admired that. Maybe she could help her pick out nice outfits for church one day, since the Spaniard had only appeared in rather bleak clothes (well, as bleak as one could dress during that time) that night. Wait- had she even changed out of them? Looking down at her skirt, it seemed as though she hadn't. "What're you looking at?" Chiara asked and pulled a chair out from the table and plopped down in it.

"Fufufu, I forgot to change out of my church clothes! Turn away, Chi! I have to change!" Carmen cried, her sudden outburst causing the other to look at her in shock. "What are you saying? Tch, you crazy woman..." Her sentence faltered but she turned away to look out the window to allow Carmen to change. _This is ridiculous, _Chiara shook her head as Carmen, true to her word, began to shrug out of her clothes and quickly into her casual ones. "Can I turn around now?" She sighed. Carmen chirped a "yes" and she spun around to face Carmen. Her hair was now out of her usual, tight bun and instead loose. A dark olive long sleeved blouse was rolled up to her elbows, showing off a few scrapes and moles decorating her arm, and a brown skirt only reaching her the ankles of her bare feet. The two stared at each other with flushed cheeks before Carmen cleared her throat and pulled out a chair with a wobbly leg to sit across from Chiara.

The fire in the fireplace crackled and a few embers floated out every now and then, quickly dying even before reaching the thick planks making up the floor. They sat in a comfortable silence, staring into the flames with their eyes fluttering every now and then. Breathing through their noses, neither dared to make a sound; it wasn't an awkward pause in time for either women. Calloused fingers of the florist drummed on the scratched wooden table and mimicked a tune played in church. Soft palms belonging to the baker rubbed her eyes tiredly and dragged her hands down her face and falling to the table. It was a calm night, like the world had stopped turning and clocks frozen in place, with owls perched atop straw roofs cooing and wind lazily travelling through the alleys of Rhomanta, nothing bad could happen in sleepy village that night.

But as all good things come to an end, this particular scene went out with a bang- and a scream to follow.

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><p>What a filler. orz I have terrible writers block, but I really wanted to get somewhere with the story, so I offer you this for now.<p> 


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